


A Hale Lot of Love

by holymountain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymountain/pseuds/holymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times a Hale came in Stiles' window, and one time they stayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hale Lot of Love

1.

It was exactly 1:37 a.m. when Stiles' window was jarred open and an angry looking werewolf tumbled in. He knew this for a fact because for the past five minutes he'd been staring at the clock instead of the computer in front of him where he had been fervently reading any information the Internet had about werewolves that looked mildly plausible. But his mind wandered under the best of circumstances, and it was late, he was tired, and he had to get up to go to school in approximately 4 hours and 53 minutes.

Of course, this all fled from his mind when said angry werewolf lifted him up and pressed him against the door -- _again_.

"Geez Derek," he muttered. "Second time today. We really have to work on your people skills." Derek just glared at him. Stiles, nervous, did what nervous Stiles did best: talk. "Well, I guess it is technically tomorrow already. So that's twice in two days. Still room for improvement, of course. But definitely better!"

"God, Stilinski, do you ever shut up?" Derek asked, his voice low and furious.

"I have been known to. On occasion. When held against doors by very serious, mean-looking werewolves."

Derek huffed exasperatedly. "Well I suggest you do so now," he growled, in what Stiles was sure was meant to be a threatening voice, mainly because of how threatening it was.

He marveled for a second at Derek's strength. He'd been lifting him up for a good minute or so, and didn't even look like he was breaking a sweat. Then he caught himself. _Stop admiring him, idiot! He's holding you against a door!_

"So. Um. Derek," Stiles began uncertainly, trying to ignore his inner monologue. "Why are you here?"

Derek lifted him up a bit higher, so Stiles' eyes were even with his. "I'm here," he snarled, "to warn you that if you ever do what you did today again, I will make you regret it. With my mouth."

 _What?_ Stiles glanced at the werewolf in confusion. Derek continued glaring, then abruptly realized what he just said. "I mean, with my teeth. As in, I will bite you. Painfully." He appeared rather perplexed now and Stiles almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

But Derek wasn't done yet. He shoved him against the wall with renewed vigor. "I am not your cousin Miguel! And I am not your...your _eye candy_."

"You're mad about _that_?" Stiles asked incredulously. "You're come into my room at 1:37 a.m. to threaten me because I used your hunky werewolf abs to help Scott?"

Derek just glared at him.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Next time I'll find a different hot guy to bribe Danny with. I would do it myself, but I just can't tell if he finds me attractive. Hey, Derek," Stiles said, a thought occurring to him. "Do you think people find me attractive? Like, am I attractive to gay guys? It's been bothering me."

Derek just stared at him. Wait. Was Derek staring at his lips? Wait. Was he staring at Derek's lips? Wait.

"I am not doing this with you, Stiles," Derek growled, finally letting him down. Not expecting the movement, Stiles collapsed in a heap. When he looked up, Derek was gone.

 _Well_ , he thought, _no way I'm falling asleep now_.

2.

His window creaked when it lifted and Stiles' eyes popped open. He scanned the room. A pair of bright blue eyes gleamed back at him.

"Who -- who are you?" Stiles asked, inching out of his blankets to the side of his bed in case he needed to make a quick getaway. The figure just laughed, and then stepped into the moonlight streaming through the window. _Peter._

"I should've turned you when I had the chance," he said, pacing around Stiles' bed. "You'd have made a good beta. A good addition to my pack."

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. "I never wanted to be a werewolf. Let alone part of your pack." He paused for a second, processing the situation. "Did you really come here just to tell me that?"

Peter ignored his question. "You say you never wanted it, but I can see it in your eyes. A lust...for power. For strength. And even if you didn't, I could have..." He stopped and look right at Stiles. "...persuaded you."

"Um. No?" Stiles had retreated to the center of his bed, trying to put as much distance between himself and the werewolf, who had resumed pacing. "Look, I'm flattered that you came all this way to voice your regrets about not violently biting me when you had the opportunity to, but just because you're an oddly attractive creepy psychopath, doesn't mean you're not a creepy psychopath. Okay? Plus you're like a billion years older than me."

Peter looked mildly offended. "I'm thirty-five."

"Whatever!"

"I'm just saying. If I ever become an alpha again," said the werewolf, hoisting himself through the window, "the offer is still on the table."

3.

A sharp knocking came at his window and Stiles sat up. He hadn't been sleeping. The whole business with the Darach and the Alpha pack was over -- _thank god_ \-- but the mutilated visage of the former druid still haunted his nightmares, as did the faces of Boyd and Erica. It was hard, sometimes, to process all that they had lost.

A few more thuds came and Stiles made his way over to the window, pulling it open. He stuck his head out and narrowly (and admirably, some might say) avoided a collision with the person who had been knocking by deftly jerking his head back, banging it off the window, and falling over backwards so that he was sprawled out on the floor like he was trying to make a snow angel. He lifted his head up.

"Uh, hey, Cora," he said, trying not to sound like he was dying and (mostly) succeeding. She rolled her eyes. "So, what brings you to my humble abode?"

She elegantly stepped into his room, looked down at him, rolled her eyes once more, and offered him a hand up. He gratefully took it and was promptly catapulted up by werewolf-strength. "Thanks," he said cautiously. She didn't let go of his hand.

They stared at each other for a second. "Were you asleep?" she asked suddenly. Stiles looked at her quizzically.

"Um, no? I mean, no. I was not. Asleep."

She smirked. "So you were...awake?"

She was building to something, Stiles could tell. Now if he could only tell what it was. "...yes?"

Cora's smirk widened. "I'm awake, too." _Oh no._

Stiles tried to play it cool, his eyes darting around for a way to escape. Her grip on his hand was loose, he might be able to startle her and then run away. _Play it cool, Stiles._ "That's, um, something we have in common then."

The look on her face was positively terrifying. "I seem to have this...faint memory of you promising to do something when I was awake...maybe from that night at the hospital? Do you know what I'm talking about? It's all so foggy..." _Oh no. Oh no. I am so dead. Tell my dad and Scott that I love them. Help._

His anxiety must have shown on his face, because Cora cracked up. "I'm just messing with you, idiot." She didn't let go of his hand, though, instead stepping forward and closing the distance between them. "I remember exactly what happened." And before Stiles knew what was going on her lips were on his and she was kissing him and he was kissing her back and her hands were grabbing at his shirt and his hands flailed wildly for a second before settling on her hips and it was _Cora_ and it was perfect.

"Wow," he managed, after they broke apart, gasping for air. Cora smiled, but her eyes looked a bit wet. "Hey...what's the matter? Am I really that bad a kisser?"

That got a laugh to escape her, and Stiles fist-pumped internally, the way he did every time he was able to make Cora smile. She cupped his face with her hand.

"I just wanted to give you something to remember me by," she said.

He leaned into her hand. Then, he processed her words. "Remember you by? Wait--what? What do you mean, remember you by?"

"Stiles..." she turned away from him, facing back towards the window. "I'm leaving Beacon Hills. I don't know when I'll be back. Maybe never."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Why? Do you... not like it here? Is it Scott? It's Scott, isn't it. He's just too good a person. Makes everyone else feel bad."

That won him another laugh, but when she turned around, he could see the emotion on her face. "I'm not joking, Stiles! Derek and I...he...we have a difference of opinion on the matter," she said in a tone that screamed understatement. "I don't think he's right, but I'm willing to do this for him. He gave up his alpha status just to save me! I can't just..." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Stiles. But I'm just here to say goodbye."

Stiles smiled weakly. "You sure know how to send a guy on an emotional rollercoaster, I'll give you that." He softened his tone. "I'll miss you."

She winked. "You know, there are things called 'phones', Stiles. I'm assuming you know how to use one?" It's his turn to roll his eyes.

"Ha ha. Cora Hale, ladies and gentleman. She'll be here all week." She grinned and punched him in the arm, lightly (it still hurt more than Stiles' masculinity says it should).

She stepped toward the window, then abruptly turned around and captured his lips with her own. "Once more for luck," she said, a playful look in her eye. She glanced across his figure for a second, as if she was taking a mental picture. Then she swung her legs out the window, the rest of her body soon following. Stiles rushed to follow her, hands on the windowsill as he peered out into the night. He got a glimpse of long brown hair swishing down from the roof, but that was it. She was gone.

4.

The noise is so tentative Stiles almost thought he imagined it, but it came again after a few seconds, and again after a few more. He rolled off his bed and opened up the window (because at this point, where _else_ would it be coming from) to find Derek.

Or, well, kind of Derek. A panicked-looking younger version of Derek. A hot-as-balls Derek who was his age. Uh oh.

"Hi," the de-aged werewolf said uncertainly. "I...when I woke up I wasn't sure where I was. So I followed a familiar scent and it led me here. Uh...do you know how to get to Scott's place?"

Stiles stared at him. "I guess some things don't change," he chuckled.

"What do you mean?"

"When you were older -- gosh, that sounds weird -- anyway, you used to come in through that window. It happened quite a few times." The werewolf raised his eyebrows.

"We were friends, then?"

Stiles shrugged. "Friends, enemies...not really. We were on the same side, but I was pretty scared of you. You threatened to rip my throat out once or twice." The werewolf giggled -- _giggled._ It was surreal. "Hey, not funny! You grow up to be quite a grump, you know that?"

Derek raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Can you tell me how to get to Scott's?" Stiles nodded and gave him the directions.

"He doesn't live too far away. In fact, I'm surprised you couldn't find his scent."

Derek blushed, another thing Stiles never thought he'd ever see. "Guess not," he eked out. Stiles was no werewolf, but he was pretty sure Derek was lying. He didn't press it though. Poor guy had enough on his mind.

5.

_Lydia was screaming. Allison looked at the sword through her chest in surprise, falling to the ground. And Scott. Oh god, Scott. He ran over, cradling the girl in his arms._

_Stiles wanted to run to him. To help. To do_ something. _But all he could do was watch._

_"Stiles," someone said. He couldn't respond. "Stiles! Stiles, wake up!"_

_The world shook and everything went black._

"Stiles!" Malia's arms were on his shoulders and she looked scared.

"Scott -- Allison -- she -- I," he sputtered. The werecoyote brushed a finger over his lips.

"It's okay. You were having a nightmare. I woke you up."

He shook his head, trying to shake off the last remnants of terror from his brain. "Why are you here?" he asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you are. It's just...unexpected, that's all."

If he thought Malia would be fazed by the question, he was wrong. "I was cold," she said simply. "I couldn't get to sleep."

Stiles moved over. "Here, get under the covers," he said. Malia brightened.

"I was hoping you'd say that." She pressed her lips to his, and he returned the gesture -- with _gusto,_ as he was fond of saying (alternatively: as Scott had taken to begging him not to say). She smiled into the kiss. "Turn over so I can get comfortable," she commanded, with a poke to his stomach. He did so and quickly realized something -- he was the little spoon.

+1

"You're not...leaving?" he asked. He couldn't see her expression, but she sounded puzzled.

"Why would I leave?"

Stiles made an 'I don't know' face, then remembered she couldn't see him. "No reason," he said. _Family trait,_ he thought. But he couldn't tell her that. He and Scott had agreed to wait.

Besides, he liked this way a lot better.


End file.
